Blood & Water
by treacle-antlers
Summary: When Cameron's older sister comes to town, House's relentless curiosity threatens bonds that seemed unbreakable. HouseOC HouseCameron
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Blood & Water part i

**Pairing: **House/Cameron and House/OC

**Spoilers: **None at present, although this one's set firmly in this season somewhere.

**Rating: **PG-13 but will progress to PG-17

**Summary: **I don't want to spoil the kicker at the end of this part, so I'll leave the summaries until part ii.

**Blood & Water **

**X**

"Five pm exactly, Dr. House signs out."

Scrawling his name with an exuberant flourish, House made direct eye contact with the duty nurse behind the desk and flashed her the sort of pleasant, non-threatening smile that was guaranteed to throw any members of staff who knew him entirely off their guard. It was a tried and tested method of subterfuge, but one that he resisted using more often, as its effectiveness relied on the well-known and extremely well-documented fact that Dr. Gregory House smiled at no-one. However, as the slab-faced woman in front of him stared coldly back, House realised with a sinking feeling that his usually successful efforts to shirk the last half-hour of his Clinic duties had been thwarted by two fundamental truths. One: the duty nurse was new, and two, she appeared to own a wristwatch.

"It's four thirty-two Dr House."

"It's... _what _? Are you...sure?" Shaking his wrist, House held his own watch to his ear and frowned, before raising his eyebrows in a pantomime of bemusement. "I could have sworn someone just said it was...wait a minute, isn't today the start of daylight saving?"

"That's not for another two weeks Dr House."

"I work to the Chinese Calendar."

"And the clocks go back not forward."

"Try telling that to Mao Tse-Tung."

Locking eyes with her, House gripped the handle of his cane with a fierce and grim determination, but her gaze was unwavering; like staring into a hole in the ground. Slowly, he counted to ten before reaching for the pile of charts on his right.

"I'll be in Exam Room One then. Although I _do _have to urinate first and that has been known to take me as long as...twenty four minutes and thirty-one seconds," a small grimace of contrition, "I just can't seem to get about as fast as I used to..."

"Dr. House."

Closing his eyes, House took a deep inward breath and let it out again through his nose. The now very obvious scent of Gloria Vanderbelt should have alerted him to Cuddy's presence, even if the clouds of brimstone hadn't. After all, that was why he had persuaded Wilson to buy it for her on her last birthday; 'put a bell on the cat, so to speak'. For some reason his proximity alarm didn't work so well though when they were surrounded by the smell of stale sweat and day-old vomit.

"Dr. _Cuddy _. I was just explaining to the lovely and vivacious Nurse..."

"Phillips."

"...Nurse Phillips here that my pressing need to make water currently outweighs my fervent desire to fulfill my necessary and, can I just say, enriching? And often strangely _fulfilling _duties as..."

"I need you to stay on till six-thirty."

"Absolutely not."

Her nostrils always flared a little when she was angry. Leaning back, House narrowed his eyes, fingering the handle of his cane, and wondered who or what exactly had put a bug up her administrative ass today. Surely the nostrils weren't merely on account of his slack grasp of the work ethic.

"Cameron had to leave early. I have no-one else to cover."

"Foreman..."

"He's working on the Matthews boy."

"Chase is..."

"He's still not back from Richmond and before you say it, it's only because you suggested his damned name to the board of trustees so it's your own fault he isn't here to cover your ass."

He could feel a headache coming on. Something sharp and ice-picky levering its way between his eye sockets. Rubbing at his temple with the heel of his hand, House swore a vicious and violent revenge on the soft, pliant body of Allison Cameron and mashed the tip of his cane into the ground. As if sensing her triumph, Cuddy stepped in, breathing into his ear.

"Better go take that bathroom break now. You might not get the chance again."

Her ass was disappearing through the double doors by the time he'd even summed up enough energy to ask the question.

"What was so damned important anyway?"

She blinked at him, confused.

"Cameron?"

"Oh..." a small frown and a shake of the head, "She didn't say exactly. Some kind of family emergency."

**XX **

"This doesn't _work _."

Stabbing the nib of the pen into the paper repeatedly, House finally succeeded in spattering a small but significant quantity of ink onto the log sheet before giving up and throwing it down in disgust. Watching him, the duty nurse's pale face remained as impassive as a Baked Alaska. He glowered at her briefly before stumping away.

"Six thirty-five. Write that down when you find something...usable. Like blood or a...rusty nail."

Exhaustion always robbed him of wit. He knew that and, dully, under the background noise of pain and the ever widening gap between his will and his ability to withstand it, he recognised his own limitations. He should have told Cuddy that he was attempting to cut back on his Vicodin intake this week, but his pride and the subsequent warm, encouraging looks he knew that kind of confession was bound to garner had kept him silent. The last thing he needed right now was another of Wilson's little pep talks or Cuddy waving the pious little pom-poms of professional concern under his nose. What he needed was a double shot of Wild Turkey and some quality alone-time with his remote and his new EZ-Boy.

He was half-way through the lobby when all three dropped irrevocably from his mind.

Standing beside the reception desk, a woman stood alone, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and, although only her profile was visible, something about her face; her pale lips and long dark lashes seemed strangely and hauntingly familiar to him.

Dressed simply and elegantly in a tailored grey suit, her dark hair was pulled back low on her neck in a barrette, making her look younger than her actual years, which at a guess he made thirty-five, maybe thirty-seven. Her long slender neck was pale and graceful, as were her hands, and she was tall. Even without the ridiculous heels she had forced her feet into, she had to be at least five ten. Slowing almost to a halt, House slid his eyes sideways as he passed her, shouldering his bag as he did so, and was surprised to see her give him a similarly curious look. Her lips twitched in a smile and, seemingly unable to help himself, House paused, frowning, before slowly making his way over to her.

He was right. At least five-ten.

"I'm sorry...have we...met before?"

It was such an indescribably lame line that he hoped she would take it at face value. Unfolding her arms, she smiled crookedly at him for a second before extending her hand a little. Perfect manicure and an empty ring finger.

"Uh...no. We haven't. Although I've heard a lot about you. Dr. House, right?"

Her voice was warm, a faint Mid-western twang that she'd all but trained out. Gripping her hand, House stared with a sudden unabashed curiosity into her face. It was her eyes. Something about her eyes.

"Isabel O'Connell."

"O' _Connell _..."

The name didn't sound familiar but maybe she was related to a patient, one he'd actually spent time with. What was the name of that girl who'd been hearing voices? The one that Chase had been so fascinated with.

"It's Irish. _He _was Irish. My husband." She answered the question before he could answer it, dropping his hand and re-crossing her arms as she did so. She shrugged. "We're separated."

"Ah."

Behind him, the Clinic doors slapped open, dispensing a harassed looking mother with four squalling kids in tow. Momentarily distracted, House turned to watch their progress across the lobby, before returning his full attention to her. Checking the display of her mobile phone, Isabel was frowning slightly. Chewing on his lower lip reflectively, House watched her for a long silent moment. That she was beautiful was a matter of simple fact, but it wasn't that that was drawing his attention right now. What that was was something he didn't altogether understand.

Clearing his throat, House looked outside into the darkness. Suddenly the appointment he'd made with his EZ-Boy didn't seem quite so urgent any more.

"You know I was just going to get a cup of coffee across the street. You're welcome to join..."

"Ally!"

Oblivious to his words, Isabel stepped quickly past him. Later, when he'd had time to think about it, House was fairly sure she must have heard him, but for the moment he was grateful that she didn't respond. Grateful because the 'Ally' that she was so intent on hugging at that exact moment was non other than Dr. Allison Cameron.

"Issy...I'm so sorry, I got held up in traffic. And then when I got there you'd already gone."

Her chin hooked awkwardly over the much taller woman's shoulder, Cameron looked at the same time both childlike and protective as she wrapped her in a warm affectionate embrace. Shaking her head again in an expression House knew all too well, she backed off a step or two before looking her full in the face. Neither of them seemed even aware of his presence.

"You ok? Mom said..."

"Mom worries too much," a shrug, "I just felt like visiting. Can't I visit my baby sister without it being some big emergency?"

Something flipped inside him; a switch, like someone flooding a room full of light. Only it was a room he hadn't visited ina good long while. It was a room he liked to pretend had never existed. Looking down at the handle of his cane, House wondered silently if he could make it to the door before either of them turned and saw him. Or better still somehow rewind the course of time and take back the words he'd just heard himself utter just seconds before to Allison Cameron's older sister.

"Dr. House..."

Stepping away from Isabel, Cameron's gaze was surprised and wary. As she crossed her arms over her chest, House rolled his eyes. Of course. The idiosyncratic Cameron Clench should have been the only clue he needed.

"I'm...sorry you had to cover for me. I had...Cuddy said it wasn't a problem..."

"It wasn't."

Raising an eyebrow sharply, House looked past her shoulder. Standing directly behind her sister now, the resemblance between them both was obvious. Same mouth, same pale full lips, same cheekbones. And the eyes. Of course, how could he forget the eyes.

"I may...I'll be a little late in tomorrow. Issy...my sister just got into town and I'd like to take her out to breakfast if that's ok." When he didn't reply immediately, her frown deepened. "I'm owed two weeks paid leave..."

"Unbunch the panties, Cameron. Did I say no?"

Her glare froze the air between them, "No."

"Take the day off, " swinging out his cane, House lurched past her, keeping his eyes down, "Hell take the whole week off for all I care, just clear it with Cuddy first. And tell her I don't work past five again unless she sweetens the deal."

Palming the phial from his pocket, he levered the lid off and slipped two Vicodin into his mouth without breaking his stride. He was almost to the door when Isabel's voice reached him.

"It was good to finally meet you Dr.House."

It seemed safest to pretend that he hadn't heard her.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN PART II **


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't take the week of course. He had known she wouldn't.

He'd guessed that three days of unscheduled vacation would probably be sufficient to convince her that she had won the battle, and just long enough allow her pre-programmed sense of guilt to prickle, so when he limped into Diagnostics on Thursday morning, House was unsurprised to find Cameron at her usual post; seated dutifully alongside a pile of correspondence.

"There are two here you should probably read."

"Why? Are they _funny_?"

Her eyes behind her glasses were a cool, cloud grey, "I don't know. Are 'bloody feces and vomit' funny?"

"That depends entirely on their location."

Pouring himself a coffee, House hesitated for a moment before reaching for a second cup. Behind him, Cameron's fingers on the keyboard stilled for an instant before continuing.

"And the ISN conference is in Vegas this year."

"Is it at the Venetian?"

"The Nevada Paris."

"Ah...the _Paris_," setting the mug down by her elbow, House snapped a sachet of sugar wistfully between his fingertips before tearing it open. "Boy, those nephrology boys really know how to party down."

Her eyes moved briefly from the screen to the mug beside her, before returning, "Is that a no?"

"That..." a small nod, "is a no."

Something about her appearance was subtly different. Letting his eyes rake over her, House took in the standard prim pant-suit, the crisp white shirt, the punishing, but necessarily _high,_ heels. For a beautiful woman, Cameron certainly never dressed to advertise the fact. Her wardrobe was shockingly utilitarian, slim-fitting pants, sweater-vests, the all-too-occasional skirt, but nothing that ever approached provocative, nothing that drew the eye. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about her and it still intrigued him. Now, having met her equally attractive older sister, he couldn't help wonder whether the reason was far more prosaic than he had suspected. Maybe Allison Cameron wasn't considered the real beauty of the family.

"So, is your sister in town on business?"

Her fingers on the keyboard stilled again for an instant. Watching her expression intently, House thought he saw a flicker of annoyance.

"No. She...I guess she just had some free time," she shrugged and continued typing, "I haven't been home in a year. I guess we aren't too good at keeping in touch."

"You're not close?"

More than just a flicker that time. A deep, irritable frown creased her brow and she raised her eyes to his.

"If you're asking how long she's staying, I don't know the answer. She and her husband have been having some problems and she needed some space. I suggested she come here, she had some vacation due, so she flew in. End of story, " raising an eyebrow she fixed him with a cool-eyed stare. "Anything else you need to know? I'm pretty sure that covers it but..."

"She's _very_ _pretty_."

A deep inward breath. And a hit. A very palpable hit.

"She's also very _smart._"

"And tall."

"_Yes she is._"

"Is your mother tall?"

"Five-six. Fifty-eight years old. Blue eyes. _Also_ a brunette. Married to a great guy - who isn't my father - enjoys tennis, racketball and plays a mean hand of poker. Anything else?"

Taking a mouthful of coffee, House swirled the contents around in his mouth thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing it. A pleasant, disingenuous smile.

"Did you do something to your hair? Is it..._shorter_?"

"No. It isn't." Shuffling the mail into a pile, Cameron pushed out her chair and stood up. Her eyes, when they met his own again, were perilously dark. "Maybe you're thinking of someone else."

As she stalked from the room, a faint cool scent of magnolias trailed in her wake and snapping his fingers, House raised his voice to reach her.

"You're wearing _scent_!"

But she was already out of earshot.

**XX**

"So she's a divorcee?"

Wilson's expression was far more interested than it had any right to be and, narrowing his eyes, House regarded his friend steadily across the remains of his lunch. The early afternoon sun wasn't nearly as warm as it had looked from inside his office, but the chill outside was still balmy in comparison to the one that Cameron had been emitting ever since their conversation that morning. Baiting the members of his team was so much less amusing when they refused to reply and, after failing in his attempt to draw Foreman in to break the stalemate, he'd finally given up in disgust and decamped outside for an early lunch, knowing Wilson wouldn't be far behind.

Their table was in clear view of both their offices, yet far enough from the Clinic to avoid ambush by Cuddy and, if it wasn't for the cold and the fact that his friend now seemed overtly fascinated by his description of Cameron's older sister, House thought he might even be having a good day.

"Separated. No ring though...which I guess means something."

Taking a bite of his sandwich, Wilson stared past his shoulder into the middle distance. "I think I wore mine right up until the decree nisi."

"Proving yet again that you're both hopelessly unrealistic and nauseatingly romantic."

"Thanks. So what does that make her? A stone-cold bitch?"

House picked a stray chive from between his front teeth, "It makes her available. Hot and available."

Turning back to stare at him, Wilson's lips parted in disbelief. He laid down his sandwich.

"You're not really _serious_ about this?"

His coffee had gone cold. Taking a mouthful, House considered spitting it back into the cup but thought better of it and swallowed instead. "_You're_ the one who's always telling me I need to get out more. Meet women."

"Yes! Meet _women! _Not sisters...of women." Frowning, the younger doctor picked up his lunch again, before finally abandoning it with a sigh. He wiped his hands. "Look. I know you don't want to hear this but..."

Taking another large bite and chewing, House eyed him belligerently, "So why make me listen?"

"Cameron still cares about you. Very much. And, despite the fact that you seem to go out of your way to make her miserable...actually no, _because _of that fact, I_ know_ you still feel something for her."

Rolling his eyes, his friend shook his head is disgust, his mouth still half-full of food, "Jesus, you sound just like her. I treat her like crap, ergo I really "_heart"_ her. Have you ever listened to yourself?"

"Have _you_?" Wilson's expression was still wry, but a little pissed as well, "I've never known you ride anyone like you ride Cameron. You rip into her every chance you get, belittle her, push her around, bully her. You chastise her for her bedside manner, ridicule her sensitivity and kindness, and when she does finally show a little backbone and determination, you slap her down like some disobedient puppy."

"I'm assuming you _have_ a point?"

"She says she _likes_ you, and you tear her to pieces. The idea that someone might actually see through the act, that they might understand you and still want to be with you, terrifies the hell out of you. But then along comes her big sister, and suddenly_ you're ready to meet women again." _

Snorting a laugh, James slapped the crumbs off his lap onto the ground before standing up. The look he fixed him with was every bit as cold as Cameron's.

"Do me a favour will you? Next time you're thinking about asking some woman out on a date, don't tell me about it ok? Just do it.. Because I really can't stand watching you pretend to be a human being any more."

**XX**

They all worked late that evening. Chase and Foreman running gels, Cameron doing blood-work, him moving restlessly between the two labs and his desk, stopping occasionally to stare at the darkness outside his windows. Rain was lashing down, signalling the official start of winter and for some reason the sight of the bare black-drenched trees made him feel a strange, cold desolation. Not that there had been any truth in Wilson's little rant, but sometimes House had to admit to missing close companionship; someone who both understood and withstood him, and the idea that he might be deliberately sabotaging his own chance at happiness was a pretty sobering one.

Sitting down in his chair, he reached for the tennis ball he kept on his desktop and threw it purposefully at a spot on the wall opposite, catching it again as it rebounded. The soft rhythmic sound, repeated enough times, acted like a wiper on the windshield of his mind and, relaxing into it, he let his brain white-out as he threw, caught, threw. Thinking about nothing. Thinking about Cameron. Thinking about Wilson; _'because I really can't stand watching you pretend to be human being any more'._

"Dr. House?"

A soft voice from the doorway jolted him out of rhythm, and the ball bounced and rolled across the room. Tracking it with one eye, House got to his feet and limped slowly to retrieve it, before acknowledging her. Dressed in a simple but breathtakingly elegant shift-dress, Isabel O'Connell stood awkwardly half in and half out of the room, her coat draped over one arm.

"I'm sorry, I was looking for Ally and someone down at the front desk sent me up here," she smiled uncertainly, poking her head forward to look through into the next room, "Is she...still working. We were supposed to have dinner, but I left my cell at home so I don't know if she tried to call..."

"She's down in the lab. Level 3. She should be done soon." Palming the ball, House let his eyes slide off her and along to the elevator. "One floor down. Two rights. You can't miss it."

"Thanks."

Her hips shifted, as if to move away, but the step never came. Looking at her feet, he saw the toe of the right was turned out slightly whilst the left was still inside the room, still pointing towards him. Moving his eyes back to her face, he saw she was smiling. A moment passed, and she laughed.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be...but why are _you_ still here? Do you have work to do as well?"

"Not exactly."

"So why don't you go home? Don't you have a family?"

The slight raise of the eyebrows implied that she already knew the answer to the question, but he gave it to her anyway. Just to make things easier.

"I'm surprised Cameron didn't tell you."

"She didn't tell me much," a small shrug, "Just that you were her boss. That you had a limp and walked with a cane."

"And the matinee idol looks?"

Her smile widened a little, "Failed to mention them. Although I think she did mention that you were a fairly _demanding _employer."

"And I'll bet those were her exact words."

Isabel laughed, "No. Actually I think her exact words were 'miserable misanthropic sonofabitch'" she smiled crookedly, "I guessed that meant you must be someone special. She only ever gets mad with the people she cares about."

"She ever get mad at you?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Lifting her chin a little, Isabel regarded him with a cool, ice-blue stare. When she spoke again, her voice cut through him with a chilling familiarity.

"Ally's my only sister, Dr. House. And no, we aren't as close as we could be, so you'll forgive me if I seem a little curious about who her friends are, or who's important to her now. It hasn't been easy for her since Michael died, and maybe I wasn't around to help with that as much as I could have been, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about her being alone out here or want her to be happy."

It took him a moment to realise that her anger was defensive. The why took a second or two longer. Looking down at his laced fingers, House closed his eyes and wondered silently why it was that fate kept throwing him this particular roadblock. Phrasing the words carefully in his head first, he tapped their rhythm out on the side of his Nikes as he spoke.

"I am _not._ dating. your. sister."

"Oh." Isabel's expression was embarrassed, guarded, and then finally a little curious. "Were you?"

House sighed, "We went out on one date. Six months ago. It didn't take."

"Why?"

Her combination of curiosity and bluntness were oddly refreshing. And strangely infectious.

"Because," he shrugged, a hollow-eyed smile, "contrary to the popular belief: two broken halves don't always make a whole."

"Uh huh..."

Stepping to one side, Isabel gave him a long appraising look. Her feet, still half in and half out of the room, shifted, her weight moving from one to the other, before she stepped back towards the door. Checking her watch, she glanced down the corridor towards the elevator before slipping on her coat. Watching her, House couldn't help smiling. Her mannerisms were a carbon-copy of Cameron's.

"Come on." she said, and the tone of her voice held all the command than her younger sister's would always lack. "I'm taking you up on that coffee now."


	3. Chapter 3

They walked across the street to the diner. It probably didn't bode well that the last time House remembered being visiting the place, was the day Stacy had told him she thought it 'wasn't working any more'. The memory of her pale, frozen face and silent tears still haunted his dreams sometimes, although when he relived it now he always said the right thing, always caught her hand when she got up to leave him instead of watching her go. Avoiding the fateful booth, he took at a seat at the counter and watched as Isabel did the same, flipping her curtain of long dark hair over her shoulder. There was a moment or two of awkward silence before the waitress came to take their order.

"Just a black coffee, please."

House nodded for the same noting, as he did so, Isabel checking her watch for maybe the third time. She had already made one phone call, to who he didn't want to guess, and now seemed a little on edge. Had she called Cameron, blown her off, lied to her? Or had she told her the truth and was now anticipating the fall-out. Watching her curiously, House wondered again at their relationship. Wasn't the familial bond supposed to be the closest of all? So why hadn't Cameron mentioned that she had a siblings before, let alone that she had a sister.

"You said she was your only sister. Do you have brothers?"

Half turning towards him, it was Isabel's turn to look surprised.

"Boy, you really _don't_ know a lot about her do you?" A curious smile tugged at her lips, for some reason it made him a little uncomfortable. She shook her head, "Uh...no. We have a step-brother, Matty, but he's a lot older. I sometimes wish we had though. Maybe we'd have been better prepared."

"For living with us?"

She smiled, "For coping with your caprices. Ours was kind of an unhealthily_ feminized _household. We loved men and we loathed them. Or at least Mom and I did. I think Ally's always been a lot less judgmental."

Their coffee arrived and, pausing to add more sugar than seemed really necessary, Isabel frowned.

"Can I ask _you_ something now?"

"You don't strike me as someone who usually bothers to ask permission."

"I'm being polite."

"Ha!" House tapped his fingertips against the side of his cup. 'What happened to your leg' was the normal standard of course, closely followed by 'why are you such an asshole'. He wasn't sure why, but somehow he doubted Cameron's sister needed to know the answer to either.

"You said before that you thought Ally was broken..." Her voice was soft. Curious. Drawing herself up in her chair, she stirred her coffee slowly, "What has she told you about Michael?"

Michael. If truth be told, he had never even thought to ask his name. Cameron's dead husband. Somehow it had always seemed simpler to imagine him in the abstract; a caricature of a cancer patient rather than a flesh and blood human being, but now, almost despite himself, he found his curiosity piqued. Lacing his fingers around his coffee cup, House dabbed at the grains of sugar on the countertop with a fingertip.

"Not much. She met him at college. He was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. She married him. He died." Turning his gaze back towards her, he raised an eyebrow, "Did I miss anything out?"

"She told you they met at college?" Isabel's eyebrow matched his own, "But did she tell you he was her tutor?"

He wanted to smile, although he realised nothing was funny. That Cameron hadn't mentioned her husband's age or the circumstances of their meeting didn't exactly surprise him. After all he hadn't exactly pried the information out of her in the first place: she had been ready to tell someone at PPTH and he, he had just been conveniently located when the water finally overflowed the dam. That she hadn't offered it later wasn't too much of a shock either. The fact that she also had a history of being attracted to authority figures would only have added to his brutal sketch of her phychological make-up.

"Ally met him her first year at Michigan. Michael was forty-one, divorced, alone and still working, even though he'd lived with cancer for almost a year. He was brilliant and she worshipped him." Isabel cocked her head to one side, "He was the one who persuaded her to specialize you know? She had no real direction before she met him: she just knew she wanted to be in medicine. Michael looked past the pretty package and saw a great doctor. someone who could really make a difference."

"He sounds like a saint."

He hadn't meant to sound so sarcastic, but the words just came out that way. Pursing her lips, Isabel shook her head.

"He wasn't. If I'm honest, I don't think I ever liked him. There was something about him that defied it, you know? He was all angles, all edges, " she gave a low laugh, "To be truthful, I thought he was an selfish, arrogant cocksucker and I told her so. But you know Ally, when she sets her mind on something...

When he finally had to stop teaching, she moved in with him. Mom and I tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant she could care for him and still keep up her studies. It was her idea that they get married. I used to think she did it just to keep his name, but she dropped it again after he died. "

The waitress returned to bring them a refill and, covering his cup with his hand, House gave a small shake of his head. Beside him, Isabel looked silently into her own coffee before lifting it up to drain the last drop and once again he was struck again by the familiarity of her features. Her profile was smooth and porcelain and, if he was totally honest, a little smoother, a little more refined than her sister's. Her long dark hair smell faintly of violets, her large blue grey eyes were perfectly made-up and free of dark circles and her mouth, her mouth was a firm, red curve where Cameron's was soft and pale. The differences were subtle, but the more he looked now, the more he saw. Isabel O'Connell was eight years older than her sister, closer to his age, closer to his height, smart, funny and self-assured and maybe the first woman he'd had an open, honest conversation with in five long years. The fact that every word of it had been about another woman failed entirely to strike him as ironic.

**XXX**

The low, rhythmic banging dragged him slowly out of a sound sleep. Cracking open one eye, House tired to focus on the glowing face of the clock on his night-stand, before finally giving up and reaching for it. _1.32am. _ The banging ceased for a moment and then continued afresh, as he gradually became aware of its source. Dropping the clock to the floor with a low moan, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. 1.32_am._ Who the _fuck _was hammering on his front door at 1.32am?

The air outside his bed was bone-cold and, pulling on a pair of sweats and a second t-shirt, House limped painfully through to the front room. The pain in his leg was always worst in the early hours of the morning, which was why he normally chose to sleep through it and, pausing to locate his phial of Vicodin on the kitchen counter, he palmed two and slapped on the faucet to fill a glass of water. He'd just located a clean tumbler when the noise started up again.

"Holy fucking CHRIST!" Smashing the glass back down, House dry swallowed the pills on his way from the kitchen. The bitter taste saturated his tongue, making him gag and, grimacing, he threw open the door, "This better be a fucking life and death emergency..."

The sentence hung unfinished in the air. Standing on his doorstep in the pouring rain, Allison Cameron's hair was plastered to her head, one white-knuckled hand raised in the act of battering his door down. The grey sweat-suit she was wearing was soaked black and, as he opened his mouth to demand an explanation, she stepped towards him with an expression of furious anger.

"_How fucking dare you!_"

Planting both her hands on his chest, she shoved him backward, but, even with one bad leg, her strength was no match for his bulk. Grabbing her shoulders, House tried to hold her back, but her skin was wet and her sweat-suit slipped off one arm.

"You_ son of a bitch_! Who the _fuck_ do you think you are! What the fuck..." her eyes flashed silver-grey in her pale face and she clawed at his fingers, "Are you just...what! What is it? I mean what is fucking... WRONG with you!"

He stepped back, letting her hands drop. Behind her, the door was still yawning wide open, the icy rain slanting inwards and, stepping around her, he pushed it closed. Picked up his cane from the floor. Her back was turned towards him, her slim shoulders bare and slicked with rain. He could see her shaking.

"You're cold."

"No..." Rounding on him, her hands balled into fists, "No, I'm just _really. fucking. angry_."

"Your lips are blue and your fingernails are white. You're cold."

Limping past her, House walked out to the bathroom and fetched a clean towel from the radiator. When he handed it to her, she took it without a word. A small puddle of water had formed around her feet and watching it grow, he frowned. His every instinct told him to get her out of her freezing wet clothes and get her dry and warm immediately, but the idea of suggesting that seemed about as wise as her decision had been to come here. Instead, he poured them both a whiskey.

Her hands wrapped around the glass were the colour of ivory.

"OK, so...want to take that again?" Taking a seat on the couch, House placed his glass carefully on the table in front of him. When she didn't answer, he tapped the crystal softly with a fingernail. The sound was like a distant bell. "I think you got as far as...'what is fucking wrong with me'? Although there were some more expletives, you may have even finished that part. I forget..."

Her chin lifted. She of the pale, soft, little mouth. As if he could ever forget.

"Is _nothing _sacred to you?"

Her voice was steady, no trace of a tremor. Pulling the towel a little tighter around her shoulders, she locked eyes with him. The anger in them was only slightly lessened by the desperation.

"I mean, I've always known you were a heartless sonofabitch, but this? This is below even you."

"Believe me when I say that _nothing_ is below me..."

"Oh, cut the bullshit will you!" She almost spat the words, "Your games won't work with me and you know it. You want to fuck with my head at work, that's fine? I signed up for that the day I passed your screwed up little interview process. But I am not Chase. You can't just...push my fucking buttons to see what happens. Because you're curious, or because you're so damned...miserable that you wish everyone else there with you. Outside work? You stay the hell away from my private life, do you hear me?"

Taking a mouthful of whiskey, House let the liquid leak down the back of his throat. The pain in his leg was still nagging at him, but his tried and tested alcohol/Vicodin combo was starting to help. What wasn't helping though, was the sight of pale, shivering young woman dripping water onto his living room floor.

"Sit down Cameron. You're messing up the rug."

And for a moment he really thought she would. Something in her eyes flared that he recognised, something that resonated; a deep painful echo inside him. Pulling the towel from her shoulders, she let it drop to the floor.

"Go to hell," she said quietly.

She let herself out.


	4. Chapter 4

He was late into work the following morning and, although no-one commented on the fact, he was fairly sure they wanted to. Foreman's deliberate glance at his watch would normally have been grounds for an equally pissy observation of his own, but for some reason House just didn't seem to have the energy. Instead he just contented himself with ordering up another battery of complex and utterly pointless tests on the Matthews boy. Postherpetic Neuralgia. As if.

Cameron's entrance didn't come until almost midday. He imagined she'd held out for as long as she could.

"I need your signature on this release."

"What is it?"

"A release. And here...would be where you sign."

She'd pulled her hair back into a knot at the base of her skull and the strands at her temples looked as if they were about to break with the strain. Picking up a pen, House let his eyes wander idly over the document in front of him, clicking the end softly in and out. Cameron was a narrow white pillar at the corner of his vision, her ams crossed.

"Have I_ seen_ this...Eladio Montez?"

"No. And you won't. His wife wants him transferred to Mercer."

"Is he all _better_?"

He could see the corded muscles in her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat pulsing.

"His white count is steady. His pressure is 120/80. He's stable."

"But he's not _better_. "

"He's well enough to be moved."

"But apparently not well enough to sign this himself. Or, in fact, _conscious _enough."

Clicking the pen nib in and out a few more times, House sucked at his bottom lip. Cameron's feet in their punishingly high heels shifted impatiently.

"Are you going to sign it or not?"

"Tell you what, I'll make you a deal." Rolling his chair back a few inches, he rested both hands on his cane. "I will release Mr. Montez from my care and relinquish all responsibility for his impending, and very possibly fatal, coronary, if _you_..." he paused, savouring the look on her face, "...will go fetch me a hot pastrami on rye, with absolutely no pickles and just the merest hint of horseradish."

The fingers of her left hand twitched; a spastic, seemingly involuntary movement, as if she were reaching to grasp an invisible ball. She was a fascinating creature to watch when she was upset; all angles and shadows, ticks and taut muscles and, as he was so often the source of her irritation, he had grown to recognise every stage. This one was the last. The one just before the cracks sprang open.

"_Fine_. I'll get Cuddy to sign it."

"And I'm sure she'll be only to happy to," flicking an eye to the clock on the wall, he grimaced, "In fact, if you call now you should catch her on the eighth hole. If you ask me, she'll be grateful. That drive down to the ninth's a bitch."

Through the open neck of her linen shirt, he could see the pale column of her throat; the sharp, hollowed angle of her collarbone was strangely beautiful. As he watched, he could almost see the breath leave her body, her hands on the clipboard tightening as she brought it up against her chest. They locked eyes and he counted the seconds down until she caved, until she couldn't hold his gaze any longer. For the first time ever he got all the way to one.

"You're still angry."

His voice was soft, confidential. Slipping the pen between the knuckles of his right hand, he switched it deftly from one finger to the next, watching her. She seemed to be waiting for something.

"Am I supposed to be _apologising_?"

Her mouth hardened,"I can't_ imagine_ what for."

"Well...then that makes two of us."

Tapping the pen against the desktop in a staccato rhythm, he raised his eyebrows sharply, but there was no reaction. Any of the others would have left by now, and the fact that Cameron was still standing in front of him, made him feel both irritable and a little defensive.

"You know, if you're going to be mad with anyone it should be her..."

He almost snapped the words, throwing the pen down as he did so. Shifting her stance, she shook her head slightly; a mute expression of disbelief..

"I didn't _ask_ her anything. She _volunteered._"

"Issy has a big mouth," a brittle shrug and then she fixed him with those ice-blue eyes again, "But she's my sister. She had her reasons for telling you all that stuff. Just likeI had my reasons for not wanting her to. She doesn't know that. _But you do_."

The tension between them stretched out like fine wire; the weight of all the unspoken words flexing them to breaking point. He felt the need to say something unbearably flip, anything that would throw them both clear and back into their own separate worlds again, but, for once, the words just wouldn't come. Reaching for his cane, House pushed himself to his feet, but, before he could open his mouth she had turned and stepped away from him towards the door. By the time he caught up with her, she was pushing the button for the elevator.

"Did it occur to you thattheremight be a_nother _reason I might want to spend time with her? Other than to glean personal information about _you _I mean?"

She wouldn't look at him, but the colour rising in her cheeks told him he was close to the mark. Heedless to the open-mouthed stare of the elderly patient to his left, he pushed on.

"Did she tell you that it was her who asked _me _for coffee? Which, coincidentally, happened just seconds after I told her that we - meaning you and I - were not and have never been 'involved'."

She pushed the button again, ignoring him, but the flush in her cheeks was getting more obvious with every passing second. Pressing the tip of his cane into the floor, House frowned angrily down at his Nikes. His head was thumping and the fact that Cameron was - once again - the catalyst for his pain made his continuing presence at her side all the more inexplicable.

"OK, so it_ was _none of my damned business. But you have to admit, it does add another pretty fascinating twist to the chain." He cocked his head, half-closing one eye, "I mean it's one thing to have a hard-on for cripples, but...the daddy issues? Now that one's really got some legs..."

The elevator door slid open and, silently, she stepped past him into the elevator. She was still staring straight ahead as the doors slid shut.

**XXXX**

"You should apologise to her."

Sliding a plate of Jello onto his lunch tray, Wilson frowned at the spoon, polishing it against the front of his lab coat. Beside him, House rejected traditional dessert in favour of a chocolate muffin, slipping a second one into his pocket as he did so.

"You want me to _apologise _for buying her sister a damn cup of coffee!"

"Because that's all it was."

"Well I did ask her if she 'wanted cream'..." He snorted irritably, pausing to glare at the cauldron of stew. The thick brown scum that covered the surface was less than appetising. He frowned at it. "I am not going to apologise."

"So...what? You're just going to ignore each other until her contract is up."

"I'm game if she is. Let's see her ask for a raise on a post-it."

His friend's weary sigh of exasperation was irritating and, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, House moved past him. Wilson handed the teller a twenty and pursed his lips as he waited for his change.

"Would it be so damned hard to say you're sorry for once?"

"If I thought I'd actually done something wrong? No."

The cafeteria was fairly quiet and for once they managed to find a table without much trouble. Seating himself, House decanted the muffin from his jacket and then watched for a moment as the younger doctor probed his Salisbury Steak cautiously with a fork. Taking pity on him, he pushed him his dessert and, with a soft sigh, Wilson took it.

"Does it really matter what you think?"

"Well my mother always told me it did."

"The fact _is_ that, whether you meant to or not, you went too far. It's one thing to make hit and miss guesses about someone, but it's another to use their family..."

"Hey! I didn't ask her _anything_. She was the one who seemed to think I wanted to know Cameron's entire life story..."

His friend gave him a withering look, "Oh right, and I suppose you tried to stop her."

"My mother also told me that it's rude to interrupt."

Wilson shook his head, continuing to eat his dessert in silence. After a moment or two, House reached over and took his knife, carved his muffin into four equal quarters. Dropping them into his mouth one at a time, he chewed each one slowly before swallowing, licked his fingertips and dabbed the crumbs from his plate.

"Do you remember the 'Reactedrin' launch? The one Dyer forced you to go to that time?"

Scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon, Wilson frowned, confused by the sudden change of topic

"Reactedrin...?" he frowned again, "Dyer? That was what...'99?"

"October '98. Tahoe."

"Vaguely," a shrug, "I suppose. Why?"

"Dr. Michael Avery. Ring any bells at all?"

Another shrug, "Not especially. Should it?"

"He was the key-note speaker. I looked it up. Tall guy. Probably wore corduroy with leather elbow patches. Just written a landmark paper on the behaviour of pluripotent cells..."

"Oh _r_ight...pluri_potent._ Of course. _That_ guy." Wilson rolled his eyes and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Sorry..._why_ is it you're asking me this?"

Lifting his fork, House used it to delicately pick muffin from between his front teeth.

"Cameron's dead husband."

"Sorry, Cameron's dead husband was...?"

"...Dr. Michael J. Avery. Oxford Don."

"The _stem cell guy_?" Surprised, his friend shook his head slightly, closed one eye. "Wait...wasn't he..." he snapped his fingers, "Avery, yes! I have a book of his! 'Division and Something...' or 'Something and Division'..."

"And I'll bet it's a_ thumping_ good read..."

The edge of sarcasm in his voice was even harder than usual and, narrowing his eyes, Wilson stared at him across the table.

"Didn't _you_ write a book once? Oh wait, that's right, _no_. You were just _paid_ to write one."

"I gave them back the advance."

"Only after keeping them waiting three years!"

"Oh so _what?_ Anyone can write a book. 'Skin-The-Cat'? Now that's a life-skill."

Across the room, the double doors slapped open and Isabel and Cameron stepped through, followed closely by Chase and Foreman. Watching them, House sucked on his bottom lip. Standing next to each other, the differences were more marked. Where Cameron was narrow and angular, Isabel was soft and curved. Where one's eyes flashed onto him and away, the other's lingered with a smile. A raise of the hand.

"So you don't think I should ask her out again?"

A deep weary sigh, "Just...do whatever you want."

"But you think it's a bad idea."

"I no longer have an opinion. I abstain."

"But you think it's _unwise_..."

Pressing his fingertips into his temples, Wilson grimaced in pain, "Unless your ultimate goal is Cameron's resignation? And perhaps a second cane...yes...I think it's unwise."

Their backs were turned to him now, but he could see the tension in her shoulders. Reaching for his second muffin, House smiled,

"Do you think she likes Mexican food?"

**XXXX**

Over the course of the many years House had worked at PPTH, he had compiled a comprehensive list of exactly four places where he could absolutely guarantee he would not be disturbed by members of his team. The first was the seemingly permanently faulty stall of the men's room on Witherspoon. The second was the incinerator room (less fun when the furnace was in operation), the third was the supply closet on Lucas Wing, and the fourth? The fourth was a relatively new addition and, currently, his favourite. The fourth was right here at the bedside of his silent, perpetually visitor-less friend, Sal 'Persistent Vegetative State' Hutton.

The TV was a big plus of course, as was the faint, comforting sound of the pressers. The plastic chairs were a bitch though and, KFC bucket cradled in his lap and his leg propped up alongside Sal's, House had only just gotten comfortable when the door slid open.

"You got a minute?"

Of the three of his underlings, Foreman was almost always the least unwelcome. Seating himself in the other chair alongside, he paused for a moment, his eyes on the screen, before reaching a hand towards House's lunch. Irritably, he slapped him away.

"Get your own."

"Don't you mean 'get someone else to get my own'?"

"Oh what, like she had something better to do?"

Grunting, Foreman rolled back in his chair, "She's a student, House. They're here to learn..."

"They're here to _assimilate_. If they were here to _learn_ they'd be watching and listening instead of asking pointless questions and obsessing over meaningless detail." Reaching into his bucket for another drumstick, House raised an eyebrow questioningly, "Is there some special reason you're here? Or is that old myth about the smell of fried chicken really true?"

Foreman snorted, shook his head, refusing to take the bait,

"Special? No." He stretched his legs out, lacing his hands behind his head, "I just thought you might be interested in something I overheard outside the ladie's room earlier."

"Is it Cuddy? She stuffs right? Ohmigod Wilson is just gonna_ freak_ when I tell him..."

Half-closing his eyes, the other doctor smiled,

"Fine. If you don't want to know, " he reached for the remote, flipped channels to the news, "I just thought you'd maybe get off on the idea of women fighting over you is all."

Grabbing the remote back, House glowered at him and thumbed his way back to ABC. Reaching into his pocket, Foreman produced a bag of chips and, with a leisurely air, tore them open and began to eat. The sound was supremely aggravating.

"Is there something else you need?"

"No."

Eric frowned in concentration. Selected another chip. Ground it lightly between his molars.

"If I ask you what they were saying will you leave?"

"What _who_ was saying?"

"Your Mom and the hooker." House eyeballed him coldly before turning back to the TV. "Cameron and her sister. Was there any full body contact?"

Foreman shrugged, tossed another chip to the back of his throat, "Not as far as I could see. Just sister stuff I guess."

They managed a full three minutes of silence, before House just had to ask.

"Sister stuff?"

"You know, that whole 'I'm just protecting you' thing. Cam was telling her to be careful and Issy was telling her to go to hell."

Flipping away from the commercials, House frowned, thumbed across the dial distractedly. On one channel a chimp was xeroxing his ass.

"That all she said?"

"There's only so long you can hang out outside the girls' bathroom."

House frowned more deeply, flipped channels again, "She said 'be careful'?"

"Something like that."

Foreman finished his chips and noisily sucked his fingertips. The pressers hissed softly and rhythmically. Sal's eyelids fluttered. Glancing at him sideways, House lifted another piece of chicken from the bucket, but somehow it never made it to his mouth.

"How do you know they were talking about me?"

"I don't."

Dusting the crumbs off his lap, Foreman pushed his chair back against the wall, headed for the door before turning round with a pleasant smile..

"But how many 'self-obsessed, emotionally manipulative bastards' do you know?"


End file.
